


it's wrong, but it's all right

by landsmanwashere (pancake_potch)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Siblings, Jonrya Secret Santa 2017, Modern AU, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancake_potch/pseuds/landsmanwashere
Summary: A conversation with Gendry reveals Jon's true feelings for his sister.  Modern AU.





	it's wrong, but it's all right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsnow (bravegentlestrong)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravegentlestrong/gifts).



> My gift to [kingsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/pseuds/kingsnow) for the 2017 Jonrya Secret Santa, who wanted a "modern au where they’re still half siblings but sinning"
> 
> I was editing this to a playlist that was my gift this year, from the wonderful kleindoeil on tumblr! Find it [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_53rHP3vnnXdctfiCGBLPsEx_8RZUgY6)

“I fucked up, mate.” Gendry says, toying with the label of a half warm beer.

 

Jon’s brows furrow and he crosses his arms, waiting for further explanation. He had been summoned to his friend’s flat with no more than a text asking to come over and bring something stronger than beer.

 

And now Jon’s here, a bottle of bourbon placed on the coffee table, waiting to see what is making Gendry so twitchy. Jon ventures a guess. “Is it…your father? Did he say something?”

 

“No,” Gendry grumbles quickly, seemingly dismissing the question without much thought. He stands and slams the beer bottle too loudly on the table. Jon watches, as Gendry seems unsure as to if he wants to crawl out of his skin or bury himself in a hole.

 

Instead, Gendry falls back onto the couch as he grabs the bourbon, twisting it open without undoing the foil wrapper. Taking a large quaff, he waves it to Jon. Jon wasn’t planning on drinking but accepts out of camaraderie.

 

“It’s your sister.” Gendry says, not looking at him. Jon coughs on the alcohol that burns down his throat and flinches.

 

“ _Sansa_?” Jon asks, completely flabbergasted. As far as he knew they hardly acknowledged each other’s existence, let alone have any in depth conversations. Nothing at all that would create this sort of uncharacteristic unease in his friend.

 

“Sans- What? _No_.” Gendry says with such vehemence, it almost offends Jon. “Isn’t she dating that old-arsed barrister?” Gendry grabs the bottle out of Jon’s limp hand, and as he’s taking another drink, it occurs to Jon which sister he actually means.

 

There’s a sudden rise in Jon’s blood pressure, and can feel the increased beating of his heart. He opens his mouth to say something when Gendry says quietly, “It’s Arya.”

 

Yeah, Jon’s guessed that much and is torn between being patient and waiting or demanding an explanation _right fucking now_ , as to what is going on. His limbs seem to move on their own as he stands up to face a seated Gendry. “ _What?”_ He grits out. This is about as patient as he can manage, because when it comes to his sister… well, when it comes to Arya, Jon is the first to admit he’s a little overprotective. A little too involved.

 

Gendry scrubs a hand over his face and looks up at the older brother of the girl he loves and is overcome with the shame he’d been feeling since he took her out. And he knows – _he knows_ \- Jon would have a bad reaction to it all, especially since he hadn’t asked Jon about it first, but he didn’t realize how angry he’d be.

 

The historical closeness of Jon and Arya is nothing new to him though.

 

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, or what have you, but-“

 

“Ask me? _Ask me what_ , exactly? What’d you _do_ to her?”

 

Now it’s Gendry’s turn to be angry. His red face an indication that he doesn’t like to be accused of _doing_ anything to Arya, because he hasn’t. Gendry stands up, toe to toe with Jon.

 

“I didn’t _do_ anything, mate. I asked her out and when I tried to kiss her, she kneed me in the balls, all right?” He pauses and stares Jon down, facing the humiliation. Jon is shorter than he is, but there’s always been darkness in him- like an undercurrent of suppressed violence and anger.

 

“Did you kiss her?” Jon asks softly, looking for any sign he might be lying or hiding something.

 

“ _No_. I tried. I just… this past year, I don’t know. She’s…she’s all I can think about. I’m in love with her.”

 

Jon drops his gaze from Gendry and steps back enough that the back of his knees hit the coffee table. “You’re in love with her.” He mutters. There’s a feeling as if someone had ripped Jon’s lungs out of his chest, because he _can’t breathe_. Emotions come banging at him from all sides at the revelation that another man is in love with Arya. _His_ Arya.

 

“-sorry that I didn’t say anything-” He hears Gendry talking, but it doesn’t matter. A hand touches his shoulder. “Mate?”

 

“Don’t.” Jon says brushing the hand off him. He takes stock at the scenery around him, trying to get his bearings. He has no idea why the thought of Arya and another man has broadsided him as much as it has. It feels as if he’s _jealous_.

 

“Don’t be like this.” Gendry starts, trying to engage him. “I know she’s your sister and all, but it’s clear she certainly don’t feel that way about me, eh? She won’t even answer my calls or texts and it’s been a week. No need to get stroppy.” The last sentence is said with a little bit of mirth in his voice, but there’s also the unmistakable tone of pain.

 

Jon barely hears him because he is acutely aware of the stinging in his eyes. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I- I have to go.” Is all he can say before grabbing the bottle he brought over.

 

Outside the building, Jon stands in front of his car, the cold wind blowing tufts of hair in front of his face. The bottle is still clutched in his hand, and he has an urge to either drink it all right then or go back upstairs and beat Gendry-f _ucking_ -Baratheon with it. Doing neither, he tosses it onto the passenger seat and drives home.

 

Once through the gates, he mentally notes which cars are parked, so he knows who’s home. Catelyn’s car is thankfully gone. Sansa’s is there, though, along with Arya’s.

 

His drive home had calmed him some. He’d always been teased about being overly sensitive and broody and angsty, and that had always been true. Maybe he was taking this too seriously. Arya didn’t kiss Gendry- _hadn’t even wanted to_ , apparently. Jon’s sense of entitlement to Arya had always been obvious, and maybe that’s all this was. It would make sense that he was angry at being left out of the loop over something in Arya’s life.

 

That would certainly make more sense than being jealous.

 

Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it chafes him that someone even tried to get close enough to Arya _to_ …to _kiss her_. It wasn’t even about Gendry, really.

 

Because Arya is beautiful, willful, clever, and funny. It was just a matter of time before some man would notice.

 

That stops him in his tracks outside the double oak doors of his home, free hand resting on the handle, other clutching the bottle of bourbon. He blinks and yanks open the door.

 

Two flights of stairs later, he finds himself in front of Arya’s door. He can hear music through the wood, and moves to turn the knob, but stops. His hand hovers uncertainly over the worn brass, but he just can’t face her right now. Maybe if she sees him, she’ll untangle all the knots he’s woven around himself.

 

And he just can’t handle that yet.

 

Instead, he finds his own room and immediately throws open the double windows. A burst of wind catches and bangs them against the molding. Jon sighs and flops down on his bed. Without really thinking, he opens the bottle and takes a drink then fumbles around in his pockets for a cigarette.

 

“At least go to the window, stupid.”

 

Jon jerks around to find Arya peering around his open door. For a second he’s arrested in motion, cigarette dangling from his lips. He coughs and watches as she walks in completely. Her Oxford is haphazardly unbuttoned in places and untucked from her skirt. The rest of the trappings of her school uniform tossed about her room, no doubt.

 

“Where have you been?” Arya asks while bouncing down on the bed next to him. She digs a cigarette out from his pack.

 

“Out.” Is all he can manage because he can’t _not_ answer her. He’s been obligated to answer any and all questions she’s ever had ever since she _could_ ask questions. But, somehow this feels more…personal or revealing, despite it directly involving her.

 

He recalls with a grimace when she had asked what _felching_ was, and why that tosspot Theon Greyjoy had kept talking about it.

 

“Out _where_? Celebrating?” He looks at her directly and wonders why she’d ask that. He follows her eyes to the bottle he can’t seem to let go of. Oh. That. He just shakes his head and watches as she takes the liquor out of his hand.

 

“Commiserating, then?” Arya takes the bottle with her as she goes to Jon’s bedside table and begins pawing through one of the drawers for a lighter. When she’s successful she twirls around on the balls of her feet and holds it up. Jon can’t help but watch the way her skirt had lifted enough for him to see the smooth skin of her thighs.

 

It takes but a second for his mind to catch up to this madness. Jon clears his throat and studies his boots. Of course she has _thighs_. Arya is a fully intact human being with all the parts a human being should have. The fact that she’s a _girl_ human shouldn’t mean anything more, either.

 

But the rush of blood to his face says otherwise.

 

Arya lights the cigarette she has and leans over lighting Jon’s as well. They inhale and lean forward towards the window in an attempt to corral the smoke out. It isn’t a very hard attempt, which is just as well since the wind outside pushes the wisps back into the room.

 

 

“Why are we drinking to your misery?” Arya asks, taking a drink. She coughs and examines the label, though Jon is sure she has no idea about brands of liquor.

 

“I’m not _miserable_ ,” he objects. He’s not. He’s confused and blindsided. And a whole host of other things.

 

“Liar.” Arya counters and punctuates the statement with another drink. Jon frowns and turns to her, intending to defend himself. He’s momentarily caught off guard when the burning ember of her cigarette catches his eye. His eyes trail down to her small hand, then the pink of her lips that pucker when she exhales the smoke.

 

Jon can’t help but take in the whole of her now. The darkness of her hair that covers her shoulders. The hollow of her throat and the slender ridges of her clavicles that peek _just so_ from under her white shirt. Past the skirt to the bony knees and the curve of her calves. The tiny feet with chipped red -tipped toes splayed on the carpet

 

Jon digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

“What’s the matter with you, then? Why are you being so weird?” Jon can hear the concern in her voice, and he removes his hands to see spots dance in his vision.

 

“Nothing is wrong,” Jon deflects. He’s lying, blatantly so, but he just can’t lend voice to what his whole deal is. Arya sighs and nudges the bottle to Jon. He lifts his eyes long enough to take it and keeps his gaze to the open window and the clouds gathering as he drinks.

 

Arya gets back up and goes back to the nightstand, trying to find a suitable ashtray. Finding one, she stops in front of him. Jon swallows and looks up to see her waist directly in his eye line. For a second he focuses on the pearly sheen of a button on her shirt.

 

His hands twitch, and God help him, he wants to pull her by that shirt on to his lap where he can hold her there, place his hands on her face and have her promise- _promise_ \- that she’ll _never_ let a man touch her.

 

“Jon-“

 

“You’re my sister.” Jon says, cutting her off.

 

“Yeah.” She answers, and snubs out her cigarette in the empty Altoids tin she’s found. “And you’re my brother. Are you drunk?”

 

“I…” Jon starts to say where he’s been today, but procrastinates by taking another drink. He’s vaguely aware that Arya hands him the tin to ash in. There’s a dip in the bed as she sits down next to him again. A tiny hand pulls at his shoulders, urging him to face her.

 

“I’ve been to Gendry’s.” He exhales. If he’s expecting a response, she isn’t giving him one. For the first time since he’s been home he looks her in the eye. “You’re my _sister_ ,” he repeats. “You’re my sister and Gendry is in love with you.”

 

Arya’s shoulders slump, and her nose wrinkles a bit. “Is _that_ what this is all about? Seriously? I _don’t care_ that he likes-“

 

“Well, I _do_.” Jon says louder than intended. Arya is looking at him, trying to piece out what the issue is when he continues, “I’m your brother. It’s my job to protect you. Understand? I can’t….” he falters, wiping his mouth. “I can’t- I can’t stand the thought of…of.” Jon stops because he’s treading into some dangerous territory if asked to explain what it is he can’t stand.

 

“Jon. _Jon.”_ Arya ensures that his attention is on her, because she needs him to know what she’s about to say. “I don’t care about Gendry. I mean, _I do_ , but not like that. Did he tell you what I did to him?” She waits for him to nod, gauging if Gendry really did tell Jon everything. “So, I don’t know why you’re so bent out of shape over it. I don’t need you to protect me, you know.”

 

Arya takes a deep breath and reaches for the alcohol. She takes a gulp. “I don’t love him. I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone like that.” It’s said quietly, as if it’s something she’s come to accept long ago, but have never been said out loud.

 

That’s shocked Jon out of his increasingly drunken state. “ _Arya_. Don’t. Don’t ever say that, d’you hear me?” He reaches for her face, grasping it so his fingers rest on the back of her head, thumbs trailing her cheekbones. “One day you’ll-“

 

Arya’s hands grasp his wrists, holding him in place. “Jon, it’s…” Her grey eyes are wide and pleading, and he can smell the bourbon on her breath. “My heart has always belonged to someone else.”

 

Jon’s heart is beating so fast, the blood pumping in his ears; he almost thinks he’s misheard her. The words she says have summed up what he’s been feeling. It’s a moment of clarity that’s so unexpected, he almost laughs. “My heart has always belonged to you.”

 

Arya gasps, and Jon is suddenly regretting what he’s just admitted to. Surely, it can be played off as _brotherly love_ , or some such.

 

He blinks and tries to jerk his hands back, when Arya’s hands grip harder. “I love you.”

 

“I- of course I love you, too-“ Jon spits out. Whatever is happening in this room _can’t_ be happening.

 

“Jon, _I know_. _It’s wrong,_ I know. All of it. _This_. But, it’s always been you.”

 

Jon’s fingers clench, folding her hair in between his fingers and he pulls her face to his, resting his forehead on hers. He closes his eyes, because it’s easier to say what he’s about to say this way. “I love you, Arya. Not like a brother.”

 

He waits for something-anything. What he’s just said has the potential to knock their whole world off its axis- to send it careening into the sun.

 

“ _Not like a brother_.” She whispers.

 

It feels so good, to hear her like this.

 

Jon opens his eyes, and she’s so close. The smell of her skin is so familiar and so, so right. He nudges his nose against hers, then dips his head to kiss her cheek. Arya releases him to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

 

They are so very close to crossing the line, to take a relationship that had been closer than any healthy sibling relationship should be into something so dangerous and wrong…but these thoughts leave his mind when Arya’s lips meet his.

 

He’s vaguely aware of the patter of rain outside, and notes how fitting it is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for what may seem like an abrupt end, but I really wanted to make sure I'd get it in before the deadline! I feel as though there may be more to this story though...


End file.
